


Unraveling

by Greensilver (Trelkez)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-16
Updated: 2005-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:04:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trelkez/pseuds/Greensilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd rather die in a flash of light. Written for SGA Remix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unraveling

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Another Morning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/319778) by [Leah (Taste_is_Sweet)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Leah). 



**I. **

 

 

The camp is quiet, so quiet that Carson can hear the low rustle of tree branches and sleeping bags as the wind courses through the forest. Tension seems to bubble and fizz across his skin like seltzer on the tongue, leaving him with a strange, shivery feeling, as though someone is watching him from just a few paces back.

 

 

For all he knows, someone _is_ watching him; for all he knows, they've been found again. Sheppard has kept them one step ahead of their pursuers thus far, but if Sheppard's security measures fail, if the enemy is one step ahead of _them_ this time - there could very well be someone back there, in the trees, studying their defenses.

 

 

Studying_ him_.

 

 

He ought to report it, should really let someone know - but for a brief, humiliating moment, he's too frightened to move. He just sits there, locked in place. His muscles twitch involuntarily, making his shoulders tense and his hands shake, but he seems to have lost all voluntary motor control; he couldn't shout for help if he wanted to.

 

 

"You're not freaking out, are you?"

 

 

The sound of Rodney's voice, extremely close by, snaps Carson out of his panicked state and jerks him around in one sudden, furious movement. He's on his feet before he realizes he intended to stand, and his immediate thoughts are of committing unspeakable violence upon Rodney's person for making him feel so helplessly frightened. But Rodney is to the left of him, not behind him, and the feeling of being watched from the trees persists, tingling along his spine.

 

 

Besides, if Carson injured Rodney, he'd just have to patch Rodney up again.

 

 

"No, Rodney. I'm not," Carson says, putting enough cool disinterest in those four words to deter a horde of overly curious five-year-olds.

 

 

"That's, um - that's not what it looks like," Rodney says, drawing closer. Carson isn't sure if Rodney didn't understand the tone of Carson's voice, or if he just chose to ignore it; with Rodney, Carson is never sure how many of his social inadequacies are genuine and how many are the product of willful ignorance.

 

 

Rodney's voice is almost a whisper, but even that level of sound unsettles Carson. The silence in the camp isn't really silence at all, not with the wind, the sounds of the forest all around them, and the constant white noise of a couple dozen humans giving in to exhausted, dreamless sleep. From a few paces away, their voices probably wouldn't be distinguishable above the underlying blanket of sound, but his own words seem too sharp in his ears, too loud.

 

 

The earlier tension continues to build in his muscles, coiling in a tight knot between his shoulderblades.

 

 

"It's just all these bloody trees," Carson blurts out, surprising himself and Rodney alike. "Anyone could be out there."

 

 

"My _men_ are out there." Sheppard's voice makes Carson jerk around again, but he's gratified to see that this time he's not alone; Rodney looks decidedly startled, as well.

 

 

"Your men could use some rest," Carson says, letting himself sound as annoyed as he feels; if people keep sneaking up on him, he's going to have a heart attack before long. "If you push them to the point of exhaustion, they'll be useless to you, anyway."

 

 

Sheppard frowns at Carson for a moment, then shrugs - acknowledging Carson's point or shrugging him off, Carson can't tell which.

 

 

"This itches," Sheppard says, tapping the fresh white bandage wrapped around his arm.

 

 

Carson shakes his head. "That's a sign of healing, Major. If you want me to look at it, I will, but if you're just trying to get me to take the wrapping off so you can scratch at it...."

 

 

Sheppard looks almost put out, and Carson can feel himself smiling a little.

 

 

Just as the tension between his shoulders begins to ease, there's a sharp rush of air at the back of his neck, as though the wind has suddenly changed direction.

 

 

Then the forest lights up, blindingly bright, and a surge of endorphins cushions Carson's fall to the ground.

 

 

-

 

**II.**

 

 

John is picking at the bandage on his arm, absently plucking at the unraveling threads that comprise the layered gauze Carson tied in place. Rodney is trying to focus on things that have nothing to do with John Sheppard, important things, but every time John frees a thread from the gauze, Rodney realizes he's been staring at John again.

 

 

"I'd appreciate it if you would _stop_ that," he finally snaps, slamming his computer tablet down onto his knees. "In case you've forgotten, we're out of those. What are you planning on wrapping your arm with when you've picked the bandage apart, huh? Your shirt?"

 

 

"Maybe," John mutters, tugging at the fraying top edge of the bandage.

 

 

Rodney eyes that top edge, making a quick estimate of just how long it'll take John to unravel the whole thing, given his current rate of restlessly destructive activity. "Don't you have _anything_ better to do than annoy me? Shouldn't you be doing a, um, perimeter sweep, or something?"

 

 

"I needed a moment to think," John mutters, scowling at the bit of gauze caught between his fingers. "If I can figure out how they're finding us, maybe I can get us ahead of them again."

 

 

Rodney probably ought to be concerned by the deeply tired note in John's voice, but his gaze is now fixed just above the bandage, where a hint of inflamed red just barely shows in the places where the gauze is coming apart.

 

 

"How long has it been like that?" Rodney says, all other things forgotten.

 

 

John doesn't say anything; he jerks his shirt sleeve down over the top of the bandage. It's an unintentionally eloquent gesture, and it sends Rodney's perpetual sense of unease into a steep descent toward actual panic. He's been feeling slightly ill for days, and he's told himself that it's hypoglycemia and exhaustion working against him in tandem, or better yet, that it's a psychosomatic reaction to not having a doctor on hand. Now that pervasive sickness is gathering into a sharp, wrenching nausea, and he's beginning to think that maybe hypoglycemia and exhaustion were secondary to tension and worry, all along.

 

 

"Don't be an idiot," Rodney says, pressing his lips together for a moment as he struggles to regain his equilibrium. "You, uh, you know, you should have one of the Athosians check it for you. Maybe one of them is a healer."

 

 

He makes himself look away from John's arm, makes himself stare down at the computer tablet as though the Atlantis city data displayed there actually has some lingering relevance to their current situation.

 

 

John shrugs, the gesture just visible at the edge of Rodney's vision. "When there's time."

 

 

"There's time now," Rodney says, without looking up.

 

 

"Like you said, I've got to do a sweep of the perimeter," John says, and stands, pulling down on his shirt sleeve again.

 

 

"Don't be an idiot," Rodney says again, his insides rocking like there's a storm-torn ocean just beneath his skin. "In your case, that's probably like asking a bird to fly backwards, but you could at least make an effort."

 

 

"Hummingbirds fly backwards," John says, as though that qualifies as an acceptable response. Rodney gives up the pretense of being interested in his useless city data in favor of frowning at John, with as much frustrated disapproval as he can summon on short notice. After a moment, John rolls his eyes, scowls, and sighs, a perfect trifecta of adolescent behavior. "If it'll shut you up, I'll ask them later."

 

 

Rodney just keeps frowning up at him, unconvinced. "By which you mean, when there's time?"

 

 

"When there's time," John agrees, and retreats.

 

 

The computer tablet is a quiet, reassuring weight on Rodney's knees that helps remind him that he isn't actually swaying on a turbulent inner tide. The data displayed on it is useless, but the tablet itself is an anchor, and he grips it in both hands.

 

 

He'd almost resigned himself to watching John die like Carson, in a flash of light; but maybe that won't be what kills John, after all. Maybe it'll be something slower than that, more painful, and maybe it won't just be John - maybe it'll be Ford, or Kavanagh, or Rodney himself.

 

 

He'd rather die in a flash of light.

 

 

-

 

**III.**

 

 

Sheppard is curled up at the base of a tree, using a surface root as an unlikely pillow. Two or three planets back, Aiden would've let him sleep for a few more minutes; now he just shakes Sheppard awake, not bothering to be gentle.

 

 

"Sir? Sir, wake up." His voice is quiet but insistent, carrying a sharp edge of urgency that Aiden is sure Sheppard would hear if he whispered the words from ten yards away. Sheppard's eyelids snap open, and for a few seconds he just stares up at Aiden, eyes not quite focused in on Aiden's face.

 

 

Aiden tightens his grip on Sheppard's vest, preparing to shake him again, but then Sheppard's eyes focus, his gaze sweeping past Aiden to take in their surroundings.

 

 

"We have to keep moving, sir," Aiden says, letting go of Sheppard's vest and rocking back onto his heels. "They've found us again."

 

 

"All right," Sheppard says, and shifts to get up. Two or three planets back, Sheppard would've been on his feet in seconds; now Sheppard gets to his knees and stops, lost in thought.

 

 

Aiden isn't a particularly spiritual man, but at his core, he needs to know that there's a higher power. At the moment, the highest power he believes in is John Sheppard, and Aiden _needs_ Sheppard to be capable of leading.

 

 

But Sheppard is slipping, and Aiden sees it a little more every day, on every planet. At first, he thought that he was seeing the result of extreme stress and little sleep; but more and more, Aiden's eyes are drawn to the unraveling bandage on Sheppard's arm. He's beginning to suspect that there's a time bomb beneath that bandage, an assailant they're no longer equipped to fight.

 

 

Two or three planets back, maybe Beckett could've fought it for them, but Beckett has been dead for at least that long, and Aiden doesn't know what to do.

 

 

"Come on, sir," Aiden says, because Sheppard could be dead on his feet and they'd still have to keep running. There simply isn't time for Sheppard's mind to wander, but Sheppard seems to have forgotten that time is a factor.

 

 

Sheppard straps on his pack and falls in behind the cluster of Humans and Athosians already headed for the stargate. Aiden follows him, never more than a few steps behind; when Sheppard stops, Aiden stops. As Sheppard turns to stare back at the graves, Aiden glances down at the gauze wrapped around Sheppard's arm. The gauze is dirty, ripped and frayed in places. If they get a moment to rest on the next planet, Aiden will have to find something more sterile to use as a bandage. He isn't sure if that'll help, but it's the best he can do, and he has to do _something_.

 

 

Sheppard _has_ to heal, because if Sheppard dies, there'll be no one left but Aiden and a handful of scared scientists and sullen Athosians; Aiden will essentially be alone, and he'll have to lead them.

 

 

That thought frightens Aiden more than anything, and he refuses to resign himself to it. If he has to hold Sheppard together with his bare hands to keep the man from unraveling, he will.


End file.
